


All the Gods and all the Worlds

by SayNevermore



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Episode Ignis Spoilers, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Extrapolations based on canon, Multi, World of Ruin, oracle!Ignis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:30:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SayNevermore/pseuds/SayNevermore
Summary: Ignis followed Ardyn and gave up his soul to save his prince. He is not going to let him down without a fight. But people are getting the wrong idea about his pugnacity—and about the visions of destruction that he is assailled with.It seems they are starting a cult.





	All the Gods and all the Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY first of all you should thank [rsasai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-) for being awesome and approving this idea which is entirely why I'm writing this story bc I want to ~~impress her~~ make her happy
> 
> Second of all I have no beta and english isn't my first language so for the love of all that is holy in the world you are encouraged to point my mistakes and typos in the comments so I can correct them as fast as I can
> 
> And I hope you'll enjoy this story!

Ignis leans against the railing and takes a deep breath, as if he’s trying to swallow the sunset.

The entire world is bathed in pink and gold, there’s a sort of pink dust littered over the golden paint of the sky—but paint doesn’t do the image justice, fire is a better word, it’s an explosion, burning the horizon and leaving the world dark and the sky an intense, overwhelming orange. It’s a colour that eats at the canvas. Ignis can feel it, covering his face, shining on his glasses, turning him into light. 

At his side, lady Lunafreya lets out a sigh of her own.

“The first Oracle could not bear with the power that was granted to her,” she says, eyes locked to the distance. “It is not only a connection to all things living, you know—it is also a connection to all things dead.”

Golden particles fall out of her mouth. And they fall down the empty space under them; are they on a balcony? Ignis can feel a building behind him but he can’t turn away. When he tries, he finds out that he is still facing the sunset.

“She took her life after a few years,” Luna continues, “but the role of the Oracle does not stop with death. Each one of us keeps going through the next. Each one of us ensures the role is easier to bear for the one that comes after us.”

“Yet you died for the covenants,” Ignis points out, suddenly. Why is he saying that? There has to be a point to make; there was a point, at some point. But the light burns inside his mind, too; now he’s just following the script.

“Can you imagine how hard it must have been for the first one? They say that when she looked at her hands…” Lunafreya holds her own hand in front of her, her pale skin almost dissolving into the unforgiving sunlight. “She could see what the world would look like in a million years.”

Ignis raises his hand above the railing. And between his fingers, the orange suddenly turns to ash; the fire extinguished only leaves a world of darkness and desolation in its wake, earth dry and dead, night everlasting. Ignis looks at his skin, and he sees shadows looming in the corners of the world; distorted monsters moving with difficulty, their desperate cries covering the sound of the sun. An iced hand grabs his heart and squeezes. He is stuck in place, paralyzed before the sight of this devastated universe, this potential within arm’s reach—a sickness ready to be spilled, all over the world he knows, and nothing to stop it.

“Look,” he exhales. “I can see it.”

Lunafreya laughs, a sound so pure, like… fishes, swimming up a river on the first day of spring, and Ignis can see them now, crystal fishes flying into the golden sky.

“No,” she says. “I’d say this is merely ten years from there.”

The dream begins to crumble.

 

*

Ignis wakes up screaming.

When he was five, his uncle had taken him to a doctor. Ignis would swallow the heavy tightness he always felt in his stomach, tried to bury it inside, until it spilled from his mouth and eyes, screams and tears and a stubborn refusal to move. Talking to a doctor was supposed to solve the problem. The woman smiled at Ignis from behind her dark wooden desk, and Ignis looked at the window and at the light illuminating the side of the nearest building, a bright yellow against the azure sky. The place was quiet and warm, and the woman asked, “Why do you feel so afraid of these things?”

And Ignis answered “I don’t know” with a shrug of his shoulders. The doctor said, at the end of the forty-five minutes, that he was a very good child and had no specific problem—his anxiety would disappear as he grew up.

He’s seen a therapist three other times in his life. The last one he saw regularly for a year before he just couldn’t fit her into his planning and decided that burying himself under work until he passed out was just as good a way to deal with his night terrors than talking to someone about it. For months, now, he has slept like the dead.

He wakes up screaming after the dream, all his defences pulverized, all his skin covered in sweat; and, during a second of confused delirium, he thinks, this is my body trying to drown the fire. He is five again, small and scared.

Then he bursts into tears.

Footsteps approach him, light as feathers. A familiar sound. Prompto.

“Hey, buddy. Hey, here, it’s okay…”

Small arms wrap around Ignis’ tense frame, but the cold hands barely bother him. He leans against his friend, sobs uncontrollable. His eyes ache, it burns, like when he stares at the sun for too long. Under his own fingertips, there’s the rough skin of his face, where the magic has seeped through his pores and destroyed his body. But the pain is coming from inside, from the inescapable feeling of having swallowed lava—and from something else, something deeper and even more threatening; the absolute certainty of a catastrophe coming.

“He is going to die,” he sobs into Prompto’s arms, his voice too weak to transmit the feeling of urgency gnawing at his intestines. “He is going to die and I can’t do anything to stop it, I can’t do anything…”

Prompto’s small hand slowly move to rub along his spine, and it doesn’t comfort him at all.

“He’s not dead yet. He’ll come back…”

 

*

Ignis wakes up. 

His heart is beating fast; his brain is screaming loud. Red lights, emergency. They need to get out of the Keep, they need to be out before night falls, the monsters will take them… but a grey light is illuminating the room, with the kind of blinding reflection created by snow clouds. It is obviously morning already. They have made it out of Zegnautus just fine.

The room is not familiar.

A large window and pale grey curtains, a mirror on the white wall, and a huge wardrobe with sliding panels as doors, currently closed. A pink and beige carpet over a wooden floor. A large desk with a laptop on it, a few scattered pens on the ground next to the chair. Two doors. No plumbery—probably a floor heating? Ignis sits on the side on the bed and puts his feet on the ground. It’s warm. From the view by the window, he can assume they are at least ten stories up.

One of the doors leads to a bathroom. Ignis turns the white light on, blinks under it for a moment, then he observes his reflection in the mirror. The skin around his eyes is still a dark pink and his nose is swollen and cut. Another brown scar cuts through his lower lip. It completely transforms his face. But compared to what he’s been through, he should consider himself lucky to end up with such light wounds. The fire that has burned his veins, that has burned his mind…

Rolling up the sleeves of—he is wearing pajamas, when has he even changed?—he turns his hands around under the light. The skin is a faint pink, as if he had scratched it raw, but it’s also crossed with thin scar lines. On the hand that has worn the ring, the scars that cover almost all of his skin are a strange, luminous white, as if the wounds had been filled with silver and the skin patched back up on it. He frowns; of course, he should have expected magic to have a colour, but he has always thought that the magic of the crystal would be blue, not silver. Wouldn’t it make more sense?

Then again, the magic of the oracle is a bright and unmistakable gold.

A fiery sunset sky flashes in his mind, almost strong enough to make him lose balance.

Letters of fire in his brain. 

Noctis is gone. He is alive, and Noctis is gone. Swallowed by the crystal.

 

He has to find the others.

 

The other door opens on a short hallway that directly leads to a living room. A coat rack with a long anthracite coat hanging on it and black men’s shoes under it. A gun on an end table next to it. Two large couches in white leather and a coffee table made out of an old metallic container—or pretending so. The large windows open on a small balcony and a counter table separates the dark kitchen from the rest. Sitting on one of the barstools is Prompto, looking down at his own palms and obviously so lost in thoughts he has not noticed the intrusion.

He almost jumps out of his skin when Ignis makes the wooden floor creak.

“Ah, Iggy! Already up?”

The strain in his voice gives away that he has not slept as much as he should; Ignis idly wonders how long he's been up himself.

“It would appear so,” he says, sliding his frame on the barstool next to the blond. “But not awake enough to remember where we are.” 

Prompto laughs, which given the circumstances is probably a good point. A brief look in the kitchen confirms Ignis that there is nothing on the immaculate door of the fridge, no calendar hanging on the wall, not even an abandoned post-it note; and the used mug on the counter only shows a sober and impersonal grey pattern. 

“Yeah, I kinda panicked when I woke up, too,” Prompto says. “It didn’t look like that at all yesterday…”

And then, meeting Ignis’ confused glance, he adds:

“How much do you remember?”

“I… getting out of the Keep. I’m afraid this took all of my last forces…”

“Well, you haven’t missed much... Ravus brought us here directly after. Apparently it’s where he lives when he need to be in Gralea for something… offered by the empire and all that… but with the emperor dead we figured we could just use it to rest.”

Ignis looks around to catch a few more details of the room. Yes, he can easily imagine Ravus Nox Fleuret casually walking around, putting his bags on the floor and using the dishes for two, three days maybe, doing the laundry once or twice, then packing everything back up and leaving the flat in the same state he had found it. The image is so vivid that for a moment, Ignis thinks he is still dreaming, and his eyes unconsciously trail towards the windows and the balcony behind it, expecting to find…

But the large silhouette of Gladiolus blocks the view of the grey sky.

He breathes out.

“Who is Gladio on the phone with?”

Prompto shrugs.

“Pretty much anyone he can think of at this point. It doesn’t work anyway. The city’s on lockdown, communications are cut. Ravus went to see if he could find someone in command somewhere but… apparently even he doesn’t know who’s supposed to take on the role of emperor now.”

Right. The emperor is dead, caught up with Niflheim’s horrific experiences. Ignis is not sure of how he has learned that, but he is certain of it. He must have caught up a bit of conversation, or he’s been briefed on the way here and has no memory of it. Outside, Gladio is now slouching over the railing, phone stuck against his ear. His foot is absentmindedly kicking at the railing. Whatever he is trying to do clearly does not provide the expected results. What does the city look like, from his point of view? Is the window protecting them from the sounds of chaos in the streets, or is the capital surprisingly quiet? 

“And you?” Prompto drags Ignis out of his mind’s maze, surprising him with the softness of his voice. “How are you holding up?”

Ignis takes a deep breath. Oh, how awful—this question will not pull out an honest answer out of him for the next...

… ten years.

“Barely,” he uses all of his remaining courage to admit, and even then his voice wavers on the word. “I… nothing hurts. The magic of the crystal is an efficient medicine… but...”

“Yeah,” Prompto murmurs. “It’s shitty not to know, right?”

And Ignis simply stops breathing, for the second necessary to realize that Prompto doesn’t know. Everyone around him still has no idea of what is at stake, of what their lives will soon become. Everyone around him is still wondering if Noctis is going to come out, tomorrow, in three days, or next year.

They don’t know yet.

They have not seen.

“Oh no,” Prompto says, sounding desperate. “Iggy I’m sorry, I didn’t want… please don’t cry again...”

 

*

_Don’t cry. Spreading the words of the Gods is only the beginning._

 

*

It feels like Gladio’s voice is slowly piercing through the haze in his brain, like he is waking up again. It feels like he just keeps waking up.

“...bout his health? Is he alright?”

“See for yourself, dude,” Prompto’s voice hisses next to his ear. Ignis can feel the warmth of it, like a blanket covering him. There’s a hand on his shoulder. Prompto is safe, he thinks, and it makes him smile a little.

They’re still arguing.

“Hey, don’t take that tone, I’m just…”

“I don’t know, okay? It’s not like I could perform a complete medical check on him.”

“Guys,” Ignis croaks, finding his throat surprisingly sore. “Please.”

He opens his eyes. Dried tears make the skin of his cheeks rigid. Colours are strangely vivid, like he’s scrubbed his eyes raw to clean a layer of dust that occulted his sight. It’s like he is dreaming again.

Gladio is looking at him. Dark eyes, furrowed brows. Accusative.

“How do you feel?”

Ignis coughs. It feels like he has been screaming.

“Like I’ve missed something,” he answers.

He rubs a hand on his face, grimacing when his fingers scrub the scars around his eyes. They’re healed, but still sensitive.

“You’ve been rambling for twenty minutes,” Prompto provides behind him. “About prophecies and darkness.”

“Was I?”

Twenty minutes? But the flash of voice in his head had barely lasted a second.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Gladio insists. “Nothing you should have told us before?”

Ignis swallows hard. He didn’t expect to have to lie about this so quickly after breaking down.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you look like shit,” Gladio answers with his usual tactfulness.

Ignis breathes out, slowly. Gladio and him, when put under intense pressure, exorcize their stress through sarcasm and aggressive reactions. Had their positions been opposite, he would have answered the same thing. Chances are high, in fact, that he will snap at them, both of them, more than he'd like to.

For the next ten years. 

Behind him, Prompto shifts his weight from one foot to another. 

“We had to drag you for half the trip back there,” he murmurs. “There’s no doctor that could examine you and we just hoped we’d be lucky…”

“... but with that show right now, cranial trauma should be the least of our troubles, it seems.”

And Ignis can only imagine.

What little strength he had left decides to abandon his body and he deflates on the stool.

“A lot has happened… and before anything else, we all need to have a conversation.”

 

*

Ravus Nox Fleuret enters the flat a few moments later, hangs his heavy white coat on the rack and throws himself on the couch. There’s red around his eyes and it looks like it’s settling here. 

The outside world enters the room as he talks.

Since the last twenty-four hours, several parts of the city have been locked down, the heavy walls between the districts allowing for complete quarantine of entire sections. And at dawn, magitek ships have thrown bombs and napalm over the contained areas to get rid of the daemons. Ignis barely has time to feel his stomach churn at the prospect of carbonized bodies of innocent people; Ravus immediately adds that the maneuver barely had any effect, as daemons are not to be stopped by walls, anyway. 

Gladio explains what they have found in the reports in the keep while Prompto trembles next to him. The informations, supported by Ravus, only confirm what Ignis has already heard from Ardyn’s mouth. Gralea will soon turn into a den of monsters.

The emperor, himself, has been put out of his misery. 

How this information has seeped through the heavy walls of the Keep, they can only guess. Of course, Ravus points out, the signs were here long before the city burned, and the simplest rumour would have been taken seriously. The army that was already containing the leak has only taken the next logical step and put in place a martial law. Brigadier General Loqi Tummelt, being the highest-ranked of the remaining military, is now running around the city and, for better or worse, organizing the deployment of military trucks through the streets. Ravus himself has been, somehow, revealed as the killer of General Caligo Ulldor and deemed a traitor; and again, they can only guess how the information had traveled from the empty place in Altissia to the capital of Niflheim.

All in one, they can not stay here. But Prompto shuffles in his seat when the conclusion is reached, and Ignis can almost see him radiate discomfort.

“But, we can’t… we can’t leave Noct,” he says, voice trembling but burning with something fierce.

For a moment, Ignis wants to close his eyes as an incredible warmth rolls through his body in waves. But he keeps looking, and Prompto meets all of their eyes, and a spike of pain splits him in half when Prompto turns to him with a pleading look.

For a moment more, he stares at Gladio, and see how he turns his head to avoid Prompto’s gaze. The shield’s closed face will be no comfort.

He has to scratch his throat. 

Has to look at them all.

“He is not coming back,” he says. 

Then the words roll out of his mouth.

 

At the end of the story, his skin is burning and his breath is short, the fire is alive, he wishes he could request a glass of water and some sleep. But three pairs of eyes are locked on him, and he does not dare break the enchantment. 

Ravus stands up first. Face crunched, arms crossed. He looks at Ignis from the lower corner of his eyes. A condamnation.

“Luna sent you a vision of the future?”

There’s something that makes the lava in him boil, and Ignis wants to wallow in it. This desire to defend himself, it’s… new. It’s interesting.

“Why would I lie?” he looks straight at Ravus, although his croaked voice probably does not sound convincing.

“Oh, no, the story matches up what we know, I'll give you that—but we know, also, of someone who is good at messing with people’s heads.” 

The heavy heat inside him paints his vision red. He opens his mouth, but the words seem so absurd in his mind, he doesn’t know how to say them. Do they think he’d invent something like that? Do they think he’d impose such a harsh reality on himself if there was the slightest hope for something else? For a second, he can see himself from the outside, back straightened by the ridiculous self-righteousness of his attitude, and he can’t believe they’d put him in this position.

Then his eyes meet Gladio’s. Just a furtive glance in his direction, half a second of eye contact; but it is enough to snap Ignis out of his trance.

They _are_ putting him in this position.

“You all think the same. You think it's a trick.”

“We have to be careful,” Ravus simply says.

“Your little show didn't exactly play in your favour,” Gladio adds, low but still loud enough for Ravus to raise an eyebrow at him.

Fantastic. Exactly what he needs right now—another person to be aware that he has blacked out for twenty minutes.

“I've been awake for barely one hour,” Ignis sighs, “can we give me the benefit of the doubt?” 

“We already are,” Ravus answers. “We have brought you back and it’s more than enough trust to put into someone who ran away with the enemy—”

“To save Noct!” Ignis almost screams, because now that’s absurd, he can’t let them accuse them of— _Gods_ , how can they accuse him of anything else than that? “Because I wouldn’t let him here with someone who was about to kill him and someone who had already tried!”

“What—” Gladio starts, but Ravus is quicker.

“Who saw through Ardyn’s disguise? You? If I hadn’t revealed him, what would have happened to your prince?”

“Guys,” Prompto tries, but this is not a situation in which he can have authority.

“Then look at me, now! Do I look like I’m lying to get to you?”

He hates this, he hates this so much. How can this man be so disappointing? He knows he only really knew Ravus for a few hours, but still, he expected better of him.

“Ravus, you have grown up learning the stories, you’ve seen… what the Gods asked of the Oracle. You know how this must end. I don’t want it either! I wish I was lying to you! But this is what we get: ten years of darkness and a sacrifice! I swear, if I had anything else to tell you, I would; but I don’t! I did everything I could, yet despite it all I am losing him, and _I_ don’t have the luxury to accuse one of you of being manipulated to avoid facing the truth!”

He is going to cry. Gods, he is going to cry in front of them, again.

His heart is beating hard in his chest, his skin is prickling and the fire has reached even the extremities of his fingers, it burns and it hurts. If it could just take him again, make him forget for twenty other minutes, that would be nice.

But no, his brain won’t fail him this time. He’ll stay here and suffer under the inescapable feeling of being alive. The silence is deafening.

“Gladio,” he croaks, not even looking at the man—sparing himself from another disappointment. “You know that if there was anything to worry about I'd ask you to keep an eye on me. I would not put you in danger.”

“I know,” Gladio murmurs after a second of unbearable hesitation.

“We’re not trying to accuse you,” Prompto adds in the opening that the shield left him. “But you’re weak and disoriented and if Ardyn had lied to you to… to disorient you more, can you be sure you wouldn’t have believed him?”

Ignis tries to ignore the prickling of his cheeks, as the sound argument hits him. Had it been Gladio or Prompto, who left the group with the enemy, would he have trusted them later? Would he even have made the effort to go and retrieve them from Gralea? All of his efforts have always only been in the same direction.

“Ardyn wanted me to get to Noct,” he says, as calmly as he can. “He wanted Noctis to enter the crystal and claim his true power, so he could eliminate him as the true King… that’s what he does, he plays with the prophecy, he messes with the underlying forces of the universe. You don’t need to invent him another secret plan. What he wanted to happen has happened. He’s won.”

The realization hits him at the same time as it hits everyone else. Yes, he has. They've lost Noctis to his wicked plan.

“Noctis is going to come back and then he is going to die, and this is exactly what he has wanted. The trick… the trap was when you came to deliver me in the Keep.” 

He sits down—when had he stood up? “I’m so tired. I don’t know. I don’t know...” There are, again, small arms covering his shoulders and the quiet feeling of home. He thinks of Titan, holding up the meteor to protect humanity, and how Niflheim destroyed him. He thinks about Ravus, leading the operations against the Astrals for the sake of the empire.

No—to save his sister.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, pushing Prompto away as gently as he can. “I am not sure we have any other options anyway than to… leave this place and… the secrets of the crystal can wait.”

He is glad to observe that his damage control abilities are coming back but he won’t push his luck. He won’t look at Prompto’s face.

 

*

Aranea Highwind is everything Ignis remembers, and also something softer than he remembers. She shakes his hand when she enters the flat, while the two men that travel with her—he’s seen them, too, at Steyliff—only nod from afar and start observing the place. 

She’s come as fast as she could, apparently. They’ve still had to wait for hours inside this flat, and Ignis has not dared talk to anyone, not after the way their conversation had ended. He has waited for her to arrive, if only to break the immobility of the air around them. Gralea is tainted. If they stay here for too long without saying anything, they’re going to turn into dust from sheer boredom. 

Sometimes, a ship flies by the window. 

“So it seems I’m condemned to only meet your group when you’re missing a member,” she says, and Ignis smiles, but deep down, he can’t help but hate her for a second. “How is it looking?”

“Absolutely awful,” Ignis deadpans, if only in the hope that it’ll scratch that little smirk off her face.

But it only makes it wider.

“Yeah, I’d be surprised otherwise.”

“We need an airship to leave the city as fast as you can,” Ravus says, not waiting that she’s turned to him. His attitude with her is different, although Ignis couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He doesn’t even have a frame of reference, except for how Ravus was with him. “Loqi is apparently the highest ranking officer in this shithole and I am not dealing with him more than necessary.”

She snorts, but she’s looking pissed.

“Yeah, well, Loqi is controlling the airspace and won’t let me navigate my ship anywhere over the city, I had to beg for a tank to get me to the center and then got him off my back with a fake excuse or he’d have followed me here… so keep your ass on that couch and be patient. We’re gonna need a flight plan and I will negotiate with Loqi about whatever shitty situation I heard you’re in. Maybe I can convince him to just drop charges if I make it look like he’s gonna have bigger problems—which is true. He’s gonna have so many bigger problems. Speaking of, what do you plan to do with the crystal?”

There’s a moment of silence, and awkwards looks being exchanged.

“You… can you carry it out with us?” Ignis asks.

“Theoretically, yes.”

“He’s going to get out of it, right?” Prompto asks, and Ignis isn’t looking at him but he can feel his stare drilling through his skull. “Noctis. He’s going to come back out of it, right?”

“I… imagine so.”

He’s realizing that nobody truly has any idea of how the crystal works.

How could they have spent so many years counting on that thing to protect them, when… how foolish they were. All of them. All of the kings and queens and the entirety of Lucis.

“Well,” Aranea shrugs, “the main problem for me is that it’s still inside the Keep, and, I’m not abilitated to enter it. Ravus is, or was, if we’re lucky your credentials are still valid, so we could… use that to open the door, and then fight the hundreds of daemons that are probably still inside, and…well I have no idea how we’d get out of here but I’ll figure something out on the way?”

“You are the least reassuring person in this room,” Ravus says, “and I usually try very hard to occupy that position.”

“Then maybe it’s time for you to try and be useful,” Aranea snaps back. 

One of her partners, the one in white, coughs behind his hand. 

Ignis can’t help but laugh. It’s high, and clear, and takes them all off guard. Heat creeps up his cheeks as they slowly look at him. 

Ravus raises an eyebrow.

“Whatever we decide to do,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “it would be wise to leave Scientia here until we are ready to go. He needs rest, and I’d rather not have him in contact with more magic than necessary for the time being. You probably don’t want to risk meeting the chancellor again anytime soon, do you?”

Now that’s not funny at all. 

Who does he think he is?

But Ignis forces himself to breathe carefully. He is right, after all; not in how much Ignis wants to meet Ardyn again, but in keeping him so simply out of the loop, just for a few hours. If he was possessed, that’d leave them a tactical advantage, but he’s not, and he won’t miss anything important.

But what if the crystal talked to him again?

“Fine,” he sighs. “Who’s babysitting me?”

“Prompto,” Gladio answers, “I’m going with the…”

“No.”

Prompto steps forwards, and Ignis feels, again, a warm wave wash over him, and he doesn’t understand why.

“I’m going with them, and you’re staying with Iggy. I… I have the credentials. I can get them in.”

“Prom…”

“Later, Ignis.”

During the half-second that follows, Ignis meets Aranea’s eyes, and he is surprised, maybe a little relieved, to find an echo of his own surprise on her face. But he’s not sure whether she’s taken aback by the revelations Prompto dropped, or the authority with which he dismissed questions; and then she looks away. She says:

“I’ll take two of you with Biggs and Wedge, that’ll be enough to fight, I don’t care about your little arguments. Just tell me who’s coming and we’ll decide of a plan.”

“It’s settled,” Ravus cuts before they can even say anything. “Prompto and I are going in Zegnautus.”

“Great, the two best-looking ones.”

Prompto doesn’t blush at that. Which is, if Ignis has to admit, probably the weirdest part of the entire situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention that I have no idea how long this story will be. I hope you're ready for the long run!


End file.
